Sunlit Shadows
by that girl who likes almonds
Summary: Lady Petra Ral, one of the most respected women in Sina, tells no one of the demon that stalks her every move. Levi Ackerman terrifies those twice his size with a single look, yet no one notices the ghoul at his side. Rated T for coarse language and adult themes. Rivetra AU. In the process of being rewritten.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: my first rivetra** **story! I feel a little late to the party for still shipping Rivetra even after all this time tbh. This was originally meant to be a oneshot, but it kinda spiralled out of control into a story whoops.** **enjoy!**

She can feel it following her.

It creeps along the walls, the floor, the ceiling, always one metre behind her. Exactly one metre; she's measured. She can feel it reaching out for her with one disgusting arm, smoke and blood and fire curling in tendrils, ready to caress and claw at her back-

-and it drops back into the darkness in one smooth, fluid motion, exactly one metre away.

It's there when she writes her letters by candlelight, it's there when she gets her maid to help her dress, it's there when she steps out into the sunlight each morning to begin her day. It clings to her like a newborn babe to a mother, following her every move and mimicking it in a cruel imitation. It has her hair, her eyes, her skin and clothes and graceful movements, but everything is _wrong._ Her hair is a few shades darker, her eyes shadowed and solemn, her skin scarred and marked with hushed stories, her clothes torn and dirtied with muck. Her movements...are the same. Quick and agile and lithe, darting steps across cobblestones slippery with blood, reaching for hidden blades beneath her sleeve.

It doesn't speak, but it's mere presence causes her heart to twist and recoil in her chest, her body weighing heavy with guilt, her breathing quick and irregular, and Petra thinks _thank god_ that words aren't needed.

* * *

He wishes he could tell it to fuck off.

If he ever had a child, he would imagine it would be like that... _thing_ that follows him around everywhere. If he could stab his blades into it, he would, a million times over, just to get it to _leave him alone._

It stalks him in the night, the day, when he eats, sleeps, fights, even when his eyes are closed because _goddamnit_ he can feel it watching him.

He thinks of the fucker like a mirror. If his mirror could show the emotional turmoil his actions had on him and imprint them physically, it would look like the shadow. Every cut, bruise and wound he's ever had was suddenly there again, all the blood he's washed clean from his clothes staining the spotless cotton, all the things he's stolen are on his person again. He's already come to terms with his actions, but he wasn't ready for them to manifest into one, living demon that stands one metre away.

It's terrifying, he supposed, but he found it more annoying than anything. It doesn't harm him, and if it isn't there to harm him then what was the point?

He watches it from the corner of his eye as he wipes the blood off his knives, and it stares back, completely silent. His stomach contracts and compresses uncomfortably, and he wonders if there is something wrong with him for being so unaffected by something so unnatural. Then he pushes it away; Levi is a killer, and everything unnatural should be natural to him by now.

* * *

She's a soldier. She doesn't _complain,_ especially not at Erwin Smith, Commander of the _Legion,_ but she swears that he makes everything more difficult on purpose.

When he summons her, his room is in a dingy, rundown inn on the outskirts of Rose. No respectable woman would ever be seen there, so when Petra receives the crushed letter concealed as padding in a girl's coiffure, informing her of the location, she thinks, with a sigh, _fine, I won't be a respectable woman anymore._ She fetches her lowest-cut gown and laces her corset up so tightly that breathing seems almost impossible; her breasts swell over the neckline and she's almost alarmed at the scandalous amount of cleavage. Her face is erased by pale powder and drawn back out again with more defined features; larger eyes, pink cheeks, bright red lips. She tugs the pins out of her tight bun and twists strands around her fingers, arranging it around her face in copper curls. Slipping on her riding boots, she removed her wedding ring and dropped it in the drawer beside her bed.

All the while, it watched her.

She climbed out the bedroom window and scaled the side of the manor, hurrying to the stables and saddling her horse. Breaking it into a trot, Petra glanced back at the manor, and she thinks that this is the first time leaving where she doesn't reek of chloroform.

Kicking her horse into action, she surged forward past the manor gates and into the night. It was time to ride.

* * *

If there was one thing Levi's learnt about Erwin Smith, it's that he's got some fucking nerve.

He scowled at the letter, delivered to him from the cuffs of a boy whose face he has already forgotten.

Did Erwin really think he would work another assignment for the Legion after all the shit he put him through?

He threw down a few silver coins on the table for his meal, leaving most of it uneaten, and shrugged on his tattered coat. The barmaid glanced at him, nodding at his full glass of whiskey. "Leaving so soon? We have some great-"

The pub door slammed behind him. It was a filthy place anyway; he wouldn't have stayed even if Erwin didn't summon him.

He whistled for his horse, and his partner gave him a reproachful look. Levi glared at it. "What would you know?" He snapped, flicking his lighter and thrusting it in the demon's face. Without flinching, it melted back into the shadows, but Levi knew it was still there.

Mounting his horse, he kicked it into action, swerving past the late-night beggars and civilians of Maria. Residents out this late in _Maria_ was never a good sign. As if to prove his point, a pair of teenage boys, armed with knives and cloth over their mouths, brandished their weapons at Levi and his horse. Their movements were shaky, he noted. He glared at them.

Whimpering, they dropped their knives and scattered.

Levi snorted. Bunch of brats.

As his horse neared the outskirts of Maria, he jerked the reins and veered it towards the city of Rose. Erwin had interesting lodging preferences; the inn he'd chosen this time was right outside one of Rose's biggest brothels. On his first assignment, Erwin had paid for a room behind Sina's public bathhouse. The thought had disgusted Levi, and he remembered Isabel telling him that he would forget about germs as soon as he saw the Sina girls, Furlan suppressing quiet snickers when Levi had yanked on one of Isabel's pigtails in retaliation.

Of course, that was when they were still alive.

Things were different now. He worked alone. There was one more widow in the world. His two closest companions were replaced by a dead eyed ghoul.

Things change, and he wasn't about to cry over it. He had a job to do.

* * *

Jumping off her horse, she reined her in and led her through to a stable, flicking a silver coin at the drowsy stable hand and handing him the reins. "I'll be back in a few hours." She told him, hiking her skirts up from the mud. He nodded dumbly, and Petra continued on foot.

She pushed open the heavy inn door, her lips curling in a seductive smile and picked her way across the floor. Men almost as old as her father ogled her from where they sat, leaning forward so far a few topple off their chairs in a drunken heap. The girls opposite them glare at her, furious that she might be stealing their earnings for the night. Ignoring their looks, she strode up to the bartender, leaning forward and dropping her voice. "I hope it's not too much trouble, if you could tell me the room that Mr Elliot Stratmann is staying in?" She looked up at him through her lashes, tracing patterns on the tabletop with an elegant finger. The greasy bartender grinned down at her and she resisted the urge to punch him in the face because god she's so _used_ to that predatory stare-

"Alexander Duncan, eh? Big guy. He'd crush you. Why not spend your time with me?"

It took everything in her not to gag, and with a forced laugh, she slid her hands up his chest, trying not to cringe. "Alexander has paid for my time," she whispered in his ear. "Tell me his room and I'll be sure to repay the favour later. _For free._ "

"Room 13." he said immediately. Petra drew back quickly and threw him a sweet smile over her shoulder before leaving, sidestepping a puddle of vomit with a grimace. Hurrying through the damp hallway, she rapped on Room 13 four times. Erwin opened the door, staring down at her. "Lady Ral."

"Commander Erwin." She bowed her head politely, and Erwin stepped aside to let her in. "I hope there was a reason for such lengths to be taken to keep this assignment a secret, sir," Petra said, draping her cloak on the back of a chair and sitting down. "I don't really enjoy having a neckline lower than the carpet on this floor."

Erwin smiled a little at her teasing, taking a seat in behind a makeshift desk. "The chances of my letter being intercepted were higher than usual," he told her, and she appreciated the way his eyes stay trained on hers. "The Military Police are onto us. It is an inconvenience, but one the Legion can ultimately overcome." His voice is so sure, confident, that Petra almost feels the need to pledge herself to him and the Legion all over again. "But, Lady Ral, the MP isn't the only reason I have kept this assignment so secretive." He slid a folder full of documents across the desk. Catching sight of the name, Petra gasped. "You want me to kill _Princess Historia?_ "

"Of course not." Erwin said, quelling her nerves. "We have received word of someone close to the royal family and the crown plotting to kill her before her coronation. As you are aware, Princess Historia is under protection of the Legion, though she herself does not know. So, Lady Ral, your assignment is to smoke out her assassin- and kill them."

Petra stared at him. She had killed before- hell, she wasn't one of the most respected soldiers for nothing- but she knew who she was killing. She _knew_ how to approach them, their likes and dislikes, their reflexes and skills, their family and close friends. Her training didn't cover the first thing about _finding_ her victim.

She could feel Erwin's eyes on her, assessing her face. Damn damn _damn_. He probably thought she was incompetent, sitting this long, dumbstruck, without a reply-

He raised a hand. "Lady Ral, I understand that the training does not cover these grounds. That is why you will be working with a partner on this." Erwin pulled a small pocket watch out, glancing towards the door. "He should be here, right around-"

There was a sharp bang on the door. "Oi, Erwin! Open up. I haven't been riding for _four_ hours just to have you make me wait while you sit on your ass."

"Now." Erwin snapped the casing on his watch closed, standing up to let his guest in. Petra swore there was the faintest smile on his face, as she sat, stunned.

She'd never worked specifically with a _partner_ , especially one she had never met. She was certain she would remember that rude tone and crude words- she was still reeling at how he addressed the _Commander!_

"Really, Erwin? A brothel?" The newcomer said flatly. Petra twisted around in her seat to get a good look at him. "They're damn clingy. I was about to-"

His words fell short upon seeing Petra. He scanned her attire and face, and he raised an eyebrow. "Tell me, whore, how much is he paying you? Surely you can't have a high price to end up with _him_."

Petra spluttered. She could feel herself going red, flushing from the roots of her hair to her feet. "I-I-"

"Levi," Erwin said, in possibly the calmest tone possible. "She is your _partner_." He stepped back. "Petra Ral, Levi Ackerman. Levi Ackerman, Petra Ral."

Her _partner_. Her partner was a crass, bad-mannered, surprisingly short man. Judging from Levi's expression, he was having similar thoughts. "You never said I had a partner, Eyebrows." Levi rounded on him. "Just tell me who to kill, and I'll do it. I don't _need_ a partner."

"Unfortunately, Levi," Erwin moved past him, back to behind his desk. "Without Lady Ral, you have no chance of gaining access to your victim. I don't suppose you would be thrilled to dress up as a serving boy and infiltrate the palace kitchens?"

"What the _fuck_ are you on about, Erwin?"

Petra flinched at his language; she had heard curses before, but where was his respect? Erwin didn't even look phased; _so this was normal,_ Petra thought.

Levi stepped into the room. Erwin motioned for him to sit, and Levi gave him a flat look. "It's filthy."

His face betraying nothing, Erwin repeated what he had told Petra. "Both of you are best suited for this assignment," Erwin said. "Lady Ral can gain us access to Historia and those close to her; Levi, with your knowledge of criminals, can easily rule out who and who can't be the assassin. You both are adapt killers. With the combined experience, I expect this to be completed quickly and successfully."

She had to applaud him; his words were strong and convincing and his tone left no room for argument. Even Levi had nothing to say against that.

"Levi, you will act as a new worker under Lady Ral's command. You will be her personal guard; this allows you the excuse to be by her side at all times. Tonight, you will both ride back to Lady Ral's home in Sina. Lady Ral, tomorrow morning, you will be escorted to the palace as one of Historia's gentlewomen to help prepare her for her coronation. After that, you will both take it from there."

Erwin leaned back. "Do either of you have any objections?"

There were none from Petra. She heard Levi shift behind her, but he said nothing. Erwin nodded.

"Good. You have both been dismissed."

Petra stood up and gave Erwin a small smile, brushing off her gown and headed for the door, Levi behind her. As her hand touched the handle, Erwin cleared his throat.

"I apologise for the loss of your husband, Petra. Lord Gavin was a noble man."

Without looking at him, Petra nodded. She failed to notice the way Levi stiffened beside her, and the look Erwin gave him before she shut the door.

* * *

 **Glossary:**

 **Coiffure: hairstyle**

 **AN: I edited and proofread this at one in the morning so it might seem a bit muddled. I'm not sure when I'll next update, but I'm off school for the next few weeks so I should be fairly consistent (hopefully) but I don't want to jinx it because gOd i'm really awful at continuing stories.**


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: yo I'm back with another chapter! Thank you all for your nice reviews!**

 **I'm going to actually finish this story, I've promised myself that. Also going to try and make the chapters longer; they're just bridging on 2500 words, which isn't the longest. enjoy!**

* * *

"Where is your horse?"

"I _told_ you, Mr Ackerman." Ral took a deep breath and struggled to keep her composure. He could tell by the way she forced a polite smile and clenched her hands into her skirts. "I had to leave her at a nearby stable. A wh-pleasure girl isn't usually seen with a horse." She glanced at the brothel across the road, at the women throwing themselves at any well-dressed man who walked by. She tugged her neckline up a little self-consciously.

Levi looked her up and down. If anyone had looked closely enough at her, they could tell she was no cheap prostitute. Her skin was too well scrubbed, her fingernails clean, her dress clear of any smut or dirt. It wasn't just her attire or state of hygiene. Her face; big honey brown eyes, small nose, defined cupid's-bow lips, long ginger hair; even with all the powder and kohl on her face, nothing screamed _prostitute._

A prostitute residing in Rose, anyway. He'd never seen a Sina mistress, but he imagined they would look like Lady Ral. Levi tore his eyes away from her face and directed his attention to his horse. "For someone so intent on keeping up appearances, you don't seem very motivated to keep up the 'grieving widow,' facade." Levi said blandly, untying the reins from a fence post. Ral gave him a cold look. "My personal business is none of your concern, Mr Ackerman." She said tightly, turning away. "We are on a job. I'll retrieve my horse and then we should have no more delays."

"How far away is the stable?"

"A block or so away. I won't slow you down; I can keep up with your horse at a trot-"

She squeaked as his hands suddenly gripped her waist and lifted her up onto his horse, a surprisingly smooth transition for someone barely taller than she was. Her slim fingers wrapped around his wrists in an effort to prise him off, but he had already released her and swung up to sit in front.

"Mr Ackerman!" Ral chided breathlessly. Even in the low light of the tavern he could see she was bright pink. "That was inappropriate-"

"Stop talking," He cut her off, gripping the reins and spurring the horse along. "If you had walked alongside my horse, then those whores wouldn't have stopped pestering to get past you to try and convince me they would have better services and slowed us down. And for fucks sake button your cloak up."

He could _feel_ the intensity of her icy glare from behind him.

Tugging at the reins, he made a sharp turn around a corner, following the directions she had said earlier. There was a rustle behind him, the unmistakeable sound of someone slipping off a horse, and her thighs clenched around his instinctively. She murmured a hasty apology.

"Have you never ridden with someone before?" Levi hissed, not turning to look at her. "Just hold on."

Very hesitantly, she wound her arms around his waist, holding them gingerly, supporting her own weight instead of leaning on him, as if he would burn her. "The stable is just up ahead," she said quietly, her lips so close to his ear he could feel her breath on his skin, warm in the night air. He repressed the urge to twitch away. The last time he'd been close with someone was Isabel hugging him, and even then he'd pushed her away affectionately. He was so tense he could feel every shift she made, every brush of bare skin against his, her soft hair tickling his neck. He was so unused to human contact he wanted nothing more than to push her away and scrub himself off- though what he'd be scrubbing off he didn't know, she was fucking nobility, she didn't _get_ dirty-

He was so caught in up with his own thoughts he didn't realise how fidgety Ral was getting, trying to inch away from him as much as she could on a horse.

"Oh! There it is!" She jumped off before he had even slowed down, her boots skidding on the gravel. The stable hand, who was snoring against a water trough, jerked awake. Groggily, he lead her steed out, handed her the reins, and collapsed onto a hay bale. Ral leapt onto her horse and galloped past him. "Come on!" She yelled out to him. He watched her for a moment, when a flicker in the streetlights caught his attention and he spun around, but it was only his shadow, emerging from the darkness. His shadow, who was…staring after Ral, and for the first time, he swore he could see the closest thing to emotion on its face. It was frowning.

Before Levi could analyse it anymore, it slunk back into the shadows. Ral whistled from ahead, staring back at him. "Mr Ackerman?" She called out. "Is something wrong?"

Wordlessly, he rode past her. Ral grumbled something behind him, and didn't attempt to catch up.

* * *

Petra was no stranger to working with others. She is part of a special group in the Legion, comprised of the best soldiers, working in sync with three other men. Pulling off jobs that other soldiers could only ever dream about required complete trust, incredible coordination, and civil communication. It's funny, she thought once. Her closest friendships, people she would consider family, developed from killing. They each had their own quirks, habits, aspects of their nature she had grown so used to, even if they _did_ piss her off sometimes. Before that, she had trained with many others for combat and mock-assignments. Of course, she had encountered people with clashing personalities, but they had both dismissed them quickly enough to get the job done. It was impossible _not_ to develop a connection with whoever you were working with; it was a necessity.

Staring at the back of Levi Ackerman, however, she resisted the urge to slap him off his high horse - literally. Connection be damned; he was abrasive, blunt, crass, and every other terrible quality she could think of. He always had a stoic, emotionless expression on his face, betraying no hint of his thoughts, and his movements were sharp, precise, deadly. His eyes were shadowed, guarded, a look she'd seen in countless other veterans. There was an air of dangerous unease around him that set Petra on edge. There was no mistaking it; he was a killer who had possibly killed his own humanity in the process.

But she could be jumping to conclusions. Maybe he _was_ just an asshole.

Emerging from the narrow, packed Rose streets onto the wider country paths, she sped up to his pace and rode beside him silently. He didn't attempt any conversation, so neither did Petra. He didn't want to talk; his body language spoke enough words on its own. The silence was oddly welcoming; she almost forgot he was there and lapsed back into her own thoughts. Returning to the manor felt oddly empty without her husband there.

The funeral was held three days ago. It was a grand affair, but she could only recall the odd details, like the intricate carvings on the coffin, or the stark contrast of the white roses against the black gowns, not the eulogy or the faces of any of the guests.

As his wife, she stood at the front in her darkest dress (with an appropriate neckline, of course) dabbing at her eyes with a silk handkerchief. She was thankful for the wide berth all the friends and family gave her; if anyone came too close they might have noticed her handkerchief was completely dry. As everyone filed out of the church hall, Petra had stood at the door, thanking everyone for attending, searching for the murderer.

It had been raining when he was lowered into the ground. Petra laid a specially-grown red rose on his coffin, watching the rain drip down the petals forlornly. His mother had sobbed beside her openly, and Petra wrapped a comforting arm around her, tugging the sleeve of her dress down to hide finger-shaped bruises on her wrists.

She heaved a sigh, and Mr Ackerman glanced at her from the corner of his eye. Petra gave him a tentative smile, which he didn't return. His eyes moved past her face to behind her and he stiffened. Quicker than lightening, his hand disappeared into his coat and Petra caught the glint of a knife. Before she could say anything, it sailed past her, dangerously close to her face, close to taking her eye out. Petra yelped and rounded on him, her eyes blazing. "What the _fuck_ -"

"There was someone following us." Mr Ackerman said simply, raising an eyebrow at her language. Petra spluttered. "Your automatic response is to _kill_ them?"

He regarded her coldly and said nothing. Petra slid off her horse and flicked on her gas lantern, darting forward to where the knife landed. He had thrown with calculating precision, with enough force to sink it hilt-deep into a human's face; but there was no dead body. There was no body at all.

She looked back at the country lane. There were eight hoof-prints in the sandy ground, but no human footsteps. Mr Ackerman watched her from his horse. "Are you certain we were being followed?" She asked. He shrugged. "My instincts are never wrong."

Petra pried the knife out of the ground, brushing off the dirt and grass and raising her lantern, shining light on every possible hiding spot for a spy. There was no rustle, no heavy breathing, no blood, no indication that Mr Ackerman's aim had been off and they had dragged themselves to safety quickly. She held it a little higher, and saw her shadow slink back into the darkness, out of the light. With a sigh, she turned back to her horse-

"There." Mr Ackerman said suddenly, pointing to a spot a metre behind her. "They're right there."

Whipping around, Petra reached for a small blade hidden in her sleeve, prepared to fight. Mr Ackerman joined her, pointing at nothing- or rather, her shadow. It had a deep wound in it's face, the spot where his knife would have landed; directly in the forehead. Black blood dripped down it's pale, haunting face like ink. Petra grimaced. "That's just- you can _see_ it?"

Mr Ackerman gave her a strange look. "Should I not be able to?" He took the knife from her and pointed the blade at Petra's shadow, who glared at him in return. Petra gaped at him. "No! You shouldn't- no one should!"

"You have one too." He said, his voice empty. "Can you see mine?"

Stepping away from her, he grabbed the lantern, careful not to let their fingers brush. Directing the beam behind him, Petra caught a glimpse of a figure, a look-alike of Mr Ackerman before it ducked away.

If Petra was intimidated by Mr Ackerman, she was terrified by his shadow. It's eyes were completely dead, hair matted with blood, skin paler than a sheet of paper. She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. Mr Ackerman mounted his horse and tossed the lantern back to her. "Come on. We'll never make it to Sina by sunrise."

"What- Don't you want to discuss this?"

"No." With that, he galloped into the night. Petra watched the sand billow up from his steed. "You have _got_ to be kidding." She whispered to herself. There was no one around to hear her, but she thought she imagined her shadow shift slightly at her words.

* * *

Mr Ackerman stared up at the imposing manor. Petra unsaddled both their horses and lead them to the stable, promising him that they would be safe there for now. Scribbling down a quick note for the stable hands, she pinned it to the door and watched him for a moment. "Can you scale the wall?" Petra asked, stepping out of reach from his shadow. She pointed to her bedroom window, three stories off the ground. "That's my window. It's alright if you can't-"

He was halfway up the wall before she finished her sentence. In the next few seconds, he had slipped in through her unlocked window and out of sight.

 _Show off._ Petra clambered up, not nearly as graceful as him, but steady enough. As she reached upwards for the ledge, one of her feet gave out from under her, slipping off the tiny alcove she was leaning her weight on. She scrabbled for the ledge but she was barely holding on by her fingertips, desperately trying to regain her footing, when a hand shot out from the window and grabbed her wrists, pulling her up into the room. The second her feet touched the carpet, Mr Ackerman released her, running a finger over her dresser and inspecting the dust with a scowl.

"Thanks." Petra said sheepishly. He said nothing in reply.

She stifled a yawn. They had a few hours until the carriage arrived to take them to the palace, and she wanted to sleep for at least half of it. Grabbing a towel, she dipped it in a cold basin of water and scrubbed at her face. "There's a guest bedroom across the hall." She said, wiping hard at her eyes; kohl was a chore to take off. "You can sleep in there until we arrive at the palace."

"As long as it's clean." He replied. She heard the soft padding of his feet across the room, his shadow no doubt dragging behind. "Wait."

He stopped moving, and Petra knew she had his attention. "Can anyone else see your shadow?"

"No."

Petra paused, sighing so quietly there was no way he heard it. He grunted. "And I bet no one else can see yours. Have you ever told anyone?"

"No."

"Why the hell not?"

Petra was silent. She'd be lying if she said she never considered it, but she was a lady of nobility through marriage; if anyone found out she was seeing demons trailing after her, she would be shipped off back to her humble house in Rose quicker than she could say _assassin_. Her high status was what allowed her to get close to her victims, people that recruits from the slums would never get access to. Erwin valued her usefulness greatly. She couldn't afford to throw it all away because she was getting paranoid.

"Duty calls, Mr Ackerman." She said finally, soaking the makeup out of the towel. He laughed bitterly. She almost jerked off her chair in shock to hear him make a sound other than grunts. "Of course. Everyone knows a thing or two about fucking _duty_."

"You should know better than anyone," Petra said, almost absentmindedly. "Your duty is to Erwin. More so than the average Legion soldier. I would admire your dedication if you had joined the Legion of your own free will."

He paused, mulling over her words. "You really are good for something." He said. Petra swivelled around. He was eyeing her thoughtfully, not at all the annoyed expression Petra had expected. She shrugged. "Noble men aren't always noble. Reading people is easy when liars aren't good at what they do."

"Or you're too perceptive for liars to get away with it, Lady Ral."

"Please, call me Petra." She blurted. 'Lady Ral' only passed the lips of people trying to win her favour. Mr Ackerman was anything but that.

"Petra." He repeated. "Levi, then."

"Levi." His name sounded strange on her tongue. She smiled up at him and he looked away, his hand on the door handle. "Goodnight, Levi."

"Night, Petra."

* * *

 **AN: I feel like the characters are slightly ooc, sorry. The format might be a bit weird; I write it on Google docs then copy and paste it and just add in the line breaks. I'll try and have the next chapter up in a week or so. Thank you for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

**authors note: w o ah remember when i said I'd have it up by a week? haha sorry.**

 **School started up again, my birthday passed, and i realised I actually don't know what I'm doing with this story; I didn't really have the plot worked out and I wished i incorporated a few more factors into the first two chapters rip. I have quite a bit of it worked out, so I should be fine to work it from there. Half of it wasn't proofread because I am really tired the time it was written and uploaded.**

* * *

 _She had a knife pressed to his throat, her foot pressing deeply into his bleeding bullet wound, and she was smiling, tracing the blade around his neck teasingly. She pulled back and slipped it under his shirt, just over his heart, and she laughed. In that moment he knew she had lost it, she was gone and so was he- how_ pathetic _for the strongest Legion soldier to die silently in an alleyway. He felt it cut through his flesh, searing pain, and he shut his eyes, welcoming the peace that would come. He would see them again. He was_ ready _to see them again._

 _But he didn't. There was only blackness, and there was a voice whispering to him. Not a voice,_ his _voice. It crept up from behind and he felt cold hands on his shoulders, sliding across his chest. He wanted to grab those intruding hands and yank them away, but he couldn't move. Then it stepped out in front of him, enunciating the words more clearly. "Petra."_

He jolted awake in a cold sweat, his legs crossed and leaning against the back of an armchair. The sun was peaking over the horizon, lighting up the guest room at the Gavin Manor in all its pompous glory. The bed was on the other side of the room, the biggest, most luxurious bed Levi had ever seen, complete with snow-white sheets and enough pillows for an entire village.

He opted to sleep in the chair instead, his hand hovering near his pocket where he kept his knife. He tensed his thigh, reassuring himself it was still there. _Just a bad dream._

Rising from the armchair, he stretched out his limbs, working away the knots of tension in his shoulders and back, and headed into the bathroom. Like everything in the manor, it was impeccably clean; the basin and tub were gleaming, the gold gilding on the faucets was polished, the paintings on the wall, framed with silver and studded with tiny gemstones, were free of any speck of dust. Levi's lip curled slightly. How much money would you have to have to waste it on something as stupid as _embellished_ _frames_?

He splashed cold water on his face, rubbing the sleep and sweat from his eyes, cupping water from the tap and gulping it down. His was parched, as if he had been screaming his throat raw. "Fucking nightmares," he grumbled. It was the shit-head's fault. They'd only gotten worse since _it_ had started hanging around. He glowered at it in the reflection of the mirror.

Petra. What did his shadow have anything to do with his companion? In fact, why did _she_ have one? He'd never seen anyone else with one; and if he'd ever thought about it, a noble widow wouldn't have been the first person that spring to mind. Even if she _was_ a masterful killer.

He sighed. He was creating more questions instead of answers on a subject he didn't even entirely understand himself. It wouldn't help anyone.

Relieving himself, he returned to the main room. Despite it being it being overly furnished, there was nothing to _do_. There were a few books stacked on the tables, but they were thick tomes with long, complicated words and depressing morals that he couldn't be fucked trying to pick apart.

The glint of a music box caught his eye, nestled on the mantle among other ornaments. It was small and compact and decorated with the most exquisite embroidery, the type of useless item that would fetch a high price in the marketplace, enough to eat for a _week_ , and for a moment his fingers itched to grab it, to shove it up his shirt and high-tail it out the nearest window as fast as he could. He curled his fingers into tight fists and reminded himself it wouldn't be a good idea to steal from his…partner.

There was a timid knock on the door. A young, meek-faced maid poked her face around the door shyly. "Good morning, Mr Ackerman. Lady Ral would like to know if you would care to accompany her at breakfast."

"Is she really _that_ lonely?" He said passively, pulling his coat on. Taken aback, the maid fiddled with the ties on her apron, unsure of what to say to her mistresses rude houseguest. "Er...well, it could be arranged to have breakfast delivered-"

"Tell your _mistress_ I will be there in a minute." Levi interrupted boredly. Nodding, she shut the door quietly behind her and her footsteps faded away. He tensed his leg, feeling the familiar cool press of another blade against his flesh, concealed in his boot, and nodded to himself. He flung open the door and set off towards the dining room. The little maid had returned, awkwardly leading the way and holding the door open for him respectfully.

She sat alone at the long dining table, the right of the empty head chair. There was a mountain of food stretched out in front of her, enough toast and eggs and bacon and delicacies he didn't know to feed an army. Servants filtered in and out, juggling more platters piled high with even more food. She only nibbled at a piece of toast, sipping from a mug. The maid ushered him into a chair opposite her, and Lady- _Petra_ , he reminded himself- smiled at him. "Good morning, Levi." She said pleasantly, reaching for the butter knife. Levi grunted in acknowledgement, taking in her appearance. She was definitely dressed more conservatively than last night; her navy blue dress laced across the front of her chest, exposing her delicate collarbone but nothing more. Her bright hair was pulled back into a braided crown, drawing attention to her glittery earrings and matching necklace. His eyes were drawn to the column of her slender neck, ( _instinctively_ , of course) and there are small bumps on her skin, raised, angry-coloured marks concealed by powder. _Scars_. There are ten tiny crescent scars on her neck, cut deep into her flesh; he can tell by the way she'd caked on more makeup there, the excess powder not entirely wiped away. It's the unmistakable marks of someone wrapping their hands around her throat, and he wondered how tough her opponents are; and how tough she is for escaping alive.

"Levi?" Petra said, blinking at him. He refocused on her face. "Are you hungry?"

His stomach growled, answering her question, and he cursed inwardly. Petra slapped a hand over her mouth to hide her giggles, and waved her hand. "Help yourself. If there's anything you want in particular, I can call over the servants."

Levi surveyed the enormous amount of food before him and leaned back in his chair. "I don't know how you stay so trim if you eat this much food every morning for breakfast."

"It's not all for me. My husband and I- he would always have guests over. He liked to entertain them," Petra explained. "Show off his wealth and all. Now that he's gone…" She stared at a large painting hanging on the wall behind the head chair, taking a breath, and the meek maid from before rushed forward with a napkin. Accepting it graciously, Petra smiled at her and glanced back to Levi. "Old habits die hard, I suppose."

His dark eyes flitted to the painting. Petra stood beside a man, her hand on his shoulder, looking solemnly at the artist. The man was sitting on a chair, his hands folded in his lap. He was tall, almost Petra's height despite the seating arrangements, with neatly parted brown hair, stern eyes, and a pronounced nose. His mouth was tugged down into a frown, the creases in his forehead proving his displeasure at whatever was happening.

"He looks constipated." Levi said.

 _Clank!_

The maid dropped to her knees, scrabbling for the silver platter that had bounced across the marble floor. Petra winced at the noise, and the maid stammered out a hasty apology, sneaking horrified looks at Levi from the corner of her eye. A few, quiet soothing words later from Petra, she retreated from the room, bowing her head.

Petra rested her elbows on the table. Levi regarded her blandly and she shot him a disapproving look. "Could you at _least_ ….try to refrain from such comments?"

"Lying is for manipulative idiots."

"Being gentler with the truth would help. Although, we _can_ agree on something. That's reassuring." She said lightly, eyeing the figure behind him. "We can agree on quite a few things, actually."

Saying nothing in response, the pair lapsed into silence. He reached for a slice of toast and a fried egg, wolfing it down. It had been a while since he had a proper meal, and goddamn it he was going to make the most of what he had now.

While he ate, he didn't notice Petra pouring another mug. Wordlessly, she pushed it towards him after he polished off his third slice of toast. He peered at the brown liquid, inhaling the familiar scent of coffee. His eyes flicked up to Petra, who raised an eyebrow at him quizzically. Tentatively, he raised the cup to his lips, took a sip, and almost _choked_ on the onslaught of sweetness in his mouth.

Petra jumped slightly in surprise. "Is something wrong?"

Coughing, he forced it down his throat. Too much sugar, milk, cream, _whatever;_ he couldn't even taste the usual bitterness of standard coffee.

"It's too sweet." He told her, setting it down. "Your servants add far too much sugar."

"I made it." Petra said simply, a hint of amusement flashing over her soft features. "You drink it black?"

He nodded, and Petra leaned back in her chair. "I'll keep that in mind."

Levi opened his mouth, a scathing reply on the tip of his tongue as to _why she had to be so fucking cryptic_ , when a soft tinkling noise echoed throughout the airy room. The maid stood at the door with a silver bell. "The carriage has arrived to take you to the palace, Madam." She informed. Petra patted her mouth with a napkin and stood, motioning Levi to stand as well. "Thank you, Eliza."

Eliza scuttled from the room. Petra glided over to the reflection in a nearby window, tucking stray hairs away, smoothing creases from her dress. She flicked her gaze to Levi who dithered behind her, picking a piece of dry skin of his finger, and spun around. Staring pointedly at his jacket as if she just noticed it, she shook her head. "You'll have to change. Even if you are under my charge, they won't allow you in the palace dressed like that."

Levi gripped the hem of his coat protectively. Isabel had swiped it for him one Christmas from an old man selling second-hand clothing. Farlan later stitched up the tears and holes with grey thread too light for the black fabric. It was a tatty old thing that should've been disposed of long ago, but it was from his _friends_ and he'd be damned to let it go now.

Sensing his hesitation, Petra's eyes softened a tad. "It will be safe here. I'll lock it in my personal closet."

He narrowed his eyes at her, but he knew she could see reluctant agreement written all over his face. Slipping it off and folding it neatly, he passed it off to Petra, who smiled warmly at him. He didn't return the sentiment.

She darted out into the hallway and returned less than a minute later, his coat gone and a posh black blazer draped over her arms. "This was my husband's," Petra said. "It might be...big, but it should suffice." She eyed the grit and stains on his white shirt apprehensively, and he thanked whatever deity that might be listening that his pants fabric was dark. He slung it over his shoulders. The inner lining was as soft as a feather, warmer than any number of blankets he wrapped around himself during winter, but he wanted to throw it off and burn it in the nearest fireplace.

There was a bulge in a pocket on the inside of the jacket and he fished out a short, wide, white piece of linen. Petra glanced up from where she was shrugging on a shawl. "That's a cravat." She said at his confused expression. "It belongs to my friend. Here, you don't have to wear-"

"How the fuck do you put this on?" He wrapped it around his neck, tucking it into the collar of his shirt and folding the edges down. Petra muffled a giggle, clapping a hand over her mouth, and he glared at her. Before he could tell her to shut up, she was suddenly before him, her hands on the cravat, her fingers brushing over the exposed skin of his neck. The urge to twitch away was _maddening_ ; she could wrap those slender, smooth fingers that were currently were tucking that piece of fabric so carefully around his throat and cut off his oxygen, so _why wasn't he doing it already_?

 _You know why,_ that shitty voice sneered. His eyes fell on the shine of her strawberry blonde hair, the gleaming hairpin securing her bun together, then travelled down to her smooth brow and hazel eyes, creased in concentration. Her breath ghosted over his skin, a strangely pleasant feeling, and her hands stopped, resting on his shoulders lightly. "All done." She whispered. His hands came to rest on hers, still clinging to his shoulders. With a firm shove, he pushed her away, avoiding her eyes. "We're keeping the carriage waiting." He muttered. She teetered back slightly, regaining her balance quick enough for him to see the hurt flash over her face.

"Madam! The footmen have finished packing the carriage. They're just waiting for your word."

Petra cleared her throat, snapping her gaze away from Levi. "Yes, of course. Come." She said, icily polite and moving to the door, her footsteps slightly heavier than before. Staring at the back of Petra Ral, his _partner_ and, oh right, a recent _widow_ , he forced himself to mentally run over all the details of their mission and tried to ignore the lingering feeling of her soft hands under his fingertips.

* * *

Petra was unusually silent during the carriage ride, he noted. The air between them was thick with unspoken words that she didn't bother saying, which he was thankful for.

The carriage travelled smoothly along the even roads of Sina, the pedestrians keeping to the sides of the road calmly without causing a fuss. Levi surveyed them from behind the lace curtain, noting the quality of everyone's clothes and the fat purses and bags hanging loosely from their shoulders, and twitched the curtain shut with a sneer. "Do they really think the Military Brigade will protect them?" He said aloud. Petra, seated opposite him, looked at him curiously for the first time as he leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. "They trust the Brigade with everything. And they're off fucking around-"

"You can't speak like that." Petra interrupted, leaning her head against the wall and closing her eyes boredly. "You'll be cast out of the palace before Historia steps out of her chambers."

"What, are nobles too weak willed to handle a bit of profanity?"

"They command respect. So _respect them_. Nobles are a lot of disgusting pigs, but they can destroy you without leaving their bedside." Petra spat.

He surveyed her for a second; her hands had tightened in her lap and she was unusually stiff. Then, she exhaled and tugged her sleeves down. Levi didn't miss the obvious contempt in her voice; for him or for some nobles, he didn't know.

"You've never associated with nobles?" Petra asked him. He knew she already had the answer, and he blew a puff of air from his nose. "Couldn't find the time to visit Sina when I was slitting throats."

Petra jerked in her seat and twisted around to look through the tiny window at the driver, visibly relaxing when the clacking of the horses hooves were too loud to hear anything. "We won't last a day if you don't know common courtesy among Sina's nobles."

"I can handle-"

"I don't doubt your capabilities as a soldier," Petra said quickly. "To be put on a task like this...you've _got_ to be good. But that means nothing if you can't listen to what I'm going to say. Trust me."

She leaned forward pleadingly. The carriage was cramped, and he could count all the tiny freckles dotting her nose and cheeks.

"Fine," He said slowly. "What do I have to do?"

She decided that he only had to know the rules around addressing other nobles, ("Keep to yourself during mealtimes and no-one will notice if you're using the wrong utensil,") and rattled off a whole _list_ of rules he didn't think a single person could remember. He nodded at times in response, but despite Petra's insistence that he listen, he felt himself zoning out of what she was saying. The lull of her soft voice was oddly soothing, and he mentally slapped himself for thinking such a thing, focusing all his concentration on what she was actually saying. "Always look them in the eye before you bow. Your right arm goes in front, on your stomach, and your left arm goes behind your back. Don't bow too low. Make sure you are standing behind me, on an angle, so they can see you. They always speak first; you don't speak unless directly spoken to. Refer to all men as 'sir.' I'll tell you if the woman is a lady or a countess; there's a difference and God save you if you get it wrong.

"Don't ever deny a noble, no matter what they ask you. The only exception is if they physically attack you, but this is unlikely; most of them can't even lift a teaspoon. Don't swear, they'll take it as a great offence."

"Well, fuck." Levi said automatically. Petra rolled her eyes. "I'm serious, Levi."

"Why aren't you offended by this?" He enquired boredly, although he was secretly intrigued. Petra Ral had broken through every stereotype he had set for nobility, from her gentle, soft voice to her witty tongue. Petra shrugged. "I'm not weak hearted."

"You don't say."

"They're just words. The village boys would always swear at each other, trying to show off how manly and powerful they were." She bit her lip, but he could see a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, her eyes crinkling as if she remembered a fond memory. Levi's brow furrowed in confusion. "Your parents let you play with village children? I didn't think nobility did that."

"They don't." Petra said immediately. Levi glanced at her curiously.

Petra shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Suddenly the detailing on the cushions over his shoulder was the most interesting thing in the world. "I mean, _most_ don't. My parents were quite relaxed about who I made friends with." She corrected herself.

Turning to the window, she avoided his eyes, making it clear she didn't want to to continue any conversation. Her mix-up was odd, Levi thought, but it was her business. He wouldn't pry; that wasn't his job. As long as they both kept to themselves, they would get along just fine.

The carriage slowed to a steady stop. A footman held open the door, taking Petra's outstretched hand and helping her down. Levi rebuffed his with a scathing expression.

With a swish of her full skirts, Petra moved in front of him, throwing him a subtle look over his shoulder as she was curtsied to by palace guards. Scowling inwardly, he reluctantly crossed his hands behind him and stepped away from Petra slightly, casting his watchful gaze over their surroundings as if looking for anything that would attack her. He stared up at the palace, his voice stuck in his throat as he took in the sheer grandness of it all, from the hundreds of window sills to the spiralling turrets nestled between clouds. Everything was so _large_ , far bigger than Petra's manor, bigger than anything he'd been used to. He sealed his gaping mouth shut firmly, nodding silently to Petra's introduction to the guards when she gestured to him. The guards nodded in return, marching off after consulting Petra's name on a list. The footmen bustled around them, unloading cases and boxes by the dozen, and in the hustle and bustle of it all, Petra brushed past him, her mouth tilted up to his hair, lips barely moving.

"One last thing," She murmured under her breath. "Mention our shadows to anyone, and we'll be goners before sunrise."


End file.
